


Between the Shadow and the Soul

by orphan_account



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alpha Louis, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Canon Compliant, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Masturbation, Omega Harry, Phone Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-06
Updated: 2015-11-06
Packaged: 2018-04-30 08:46:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5157491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“It’s just easier to stay in Donny and train, Haz,” Louis says quietly. “Two transatlantic flights in less than a week right before a big match is a terrible idea. We should have known that before, but...”</p><p>Harry nods. It’s reasonable. It’s totally, completely reasonable and Harry can support that. Another five or six days of not being able to hold Louis’ hand and kiss him sweetly is killing Harry, but he can handle it. “Okay, so that’s, what, the 20th that you’ll be coming over here?”</p><p>Louis hesitates, and Harry has to bite back a frustrated growl. “I’ve got writing sessions and time in the studio scheduled as of yesterday, plus I’m supposed to get papped clubbing in London again and just… it’s shit but there’s no time to make the trip until early May, at the least.”</p><p>Or, Harry and Louis spend a month apart.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Between the Shadow and the Soul

**Author's Note:**

  * For [harlequinnharry](https://archiveofourown.org/users/harlequinnharry/gifts).



> hi, harlequinnharry, so this is actually a last minute pinch hit and I didn't have the time to write everything I wanted to, so I hope I did your prompt justice with what I did write!
> 
> thank you ever so much to [Reagan](http://thestagandship.tumblr.com/), and thank you to the mods running this exchange!
> 
> P.S. I tried to make this fic accurate in terms of the real life events (though obviously I dramatised some things) but I just realised Liam's half-time penalty is actually supposed to be a pre-game penalty. please just pretend it was a half-time thing.
> 
> title is from [Sonnet XVII - Pablo Neruda](http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/sonnet-xvii/)

Dubai International Airport is quiet this early in the morning. At least, the VIP section is. Harry and Louis are the only people there, since their security are granting them the illusion of privacy while they go and refill on coffee. Occasionally, someone will walk past, lugging their hand luggage with them and tiredly rubbing their eyes, but for the most part, they’re alone.

Harry yawns, shifting on Louis’ lap so he can check the time on his phone: _05:37._ There are another twenty minutes before his flight to LA starts boarding, so he rests his head back on Louis shoulder and breathes in deeply. Louis still smells like the beach, the unmistakable scent of sand and sea mixing with Louis’ own alpha, earthier scent. Harry wants to be so smothered in Louis’ scent, his clothes smell like Louis when Harry leaves.

“How long now?” Louis rasps, slowly waking up from his nap. His flight isn’t for another two hours, a direct flight to London. Not for the first time, Harry wishes Louis could just come with him. It’s only a week though, Harry reminds himself, only a week and then Louis will sneak into LA and they’ll be together again. A week isn’t nothing, not when he spends most of his day with Louis, but time apart isn’t a bad thing. “Haz?”

“Uh, about twenty minutes for me,” Harry says, cradling Louis’ hand between his own and playing with his fingers. “Still a while ‘til your flight.”

“You feeling alright?” Louis asks, bringing his free hand up to stroke Harry’s curls. They tickle the back of his neck now, and he’s quite proud of how long they’re getting. He doesn’t think he’ll be cutting them any time soon.

“Tired, mostly,” Harry replies. Tired from the lack of sleep, tired of hiding their relationship so they can’t even publically interact when they’re on opposite sides of the world, tired of the fast pace and how this break, that was meant to make Zayn’s leaving easier, is packed full of obligations. Harry loves his life and he loves Louis, but sometimes he just wants to sleep for a year or two.

Louis hums in understanding, maybe the only person in the world who actually _does_ understand. Harry loves him more for it. “It’s only a week, love,” Louis says, because he knows Harry too well to miss Harry’s sombre mood, even half-asleep. “I’ll be there before you know it.”

“I know,” Harry says softly. “I’ll still miss you. It’s never the same without you, you know that.”

Louis curls his arms around Harry’s waist a little tighter, pulling him closer. Harry wishes they could just stick together all the time, but there’s always something forcing them apart. There were people that told them bonding, an act of pure love, would be detrimental to their band on their boys, there are people that forcibly make it seem like they hate each other, there are people that would give anything for Harry and Louis to crash and burn, just so they could say ‘I told you so’. Harry wants to be able to go up to those people in five years’ time and tell them to go fuck themselves.

Maybe Harry should have tried to sleep when Louis did, instead of forcing himself to stay awake for 36 hours.

They cuddle in a comfortable silence until a voice over the tannoy calls for Harry’s flight to board. Harry sighs and slides off Louis’ lap, stretching his arms and legs and back. The flight will be a long one, over 16 hours, and Harry’s back is already stiff.

“Set a reminder to visit a chiropractor while you’re out in LA,” Louis says, standing up as well, right in front of Harry so he has to tilt his head up to kiss Harry softly. Harry waits until Louis pulls away before surging forwards and kissing him again. It’s not as soft as Louis’ kiss, but full of fervour that will stay with Louis, leaving his lips bruised so that he’ll remember Harry tomorrow, when they’re apart.

“Go board your flight,” Louis whispers, kissing Harry one final time.

“Come with me?” It’s a fruitless attempt, but Harry tries all the same.

“Don’t be overdramatic, babe,” Louis says, rolling his tired eyes. “I’ll be there in a week. Go.”

“I love you.” Harry picks up his hand bag and slings it over his shoulder, spotting Dale on the other side of the lounge. “See you in a week?”

“See you in a week,” Louis confirms, sitting back down on the arm chair. “Love you too.”

Harry blows him a kiss and goes to board the plane.

***

Their LA house doesn’t smell right.

Harry wakes up from his supposed-nap that actually turned into a five hour slumber, to the weak scent of Louis on the sheets. His stuff is still lying in the living room and Harry should really unpack it, he should get out of bed, fight off the jet lag, and actually do something today to make sure he’s productive.

Instead, he’s burying his face into the pillow Louis usually uses and inhaling deeply. Louis hasn’t been to this house in a while, so it’s only the residual traces of his scent that cling to the pillow. Harry breathes them in like oxygen though, desperate to feel the slightest bit closer to Louis. Without even realising, he’s grinding against the bed, picturing Louis lying on top of him, pressing him into the mattress.

Louis’ on a flight right now, probably fast asleep, but Harry deliberates calling him anyway just to hear his voice. Dirty talk has always been Louis’ thing, something that gets Harry so hot, and he’s aching for it now. He doesn’t know what’s come over him, his heat isn’t for another two months, but his arse is getting slick and his cock is thickening in his underwear and fucking hell, all he wants is Louis to fuck him until he’s dizzy with it.

Harry doesn’t bother pushing down his boxers or getting lube, he just brings his hands to the headboard and grips tightly, rutting his hips against the mattress. It’s more primal like this, grunting at the friction on his cock as it drags against the fabric of his boxers. He can almost feel the phantom touches of Louis pinning him down the last time they were here, biting Harry’s shoulders as they move together. If Louis were here, Harry would be split open on his thick cock, would feel the hint of a knot still forming at the base of Louis’ dick, ready to fill him with come.

Harry whines for it now, clenching around nothing but his own slick, steadily leaking out of his hole and dampening his boxers. He’s too wound up to get out of bed and find a dildo, and that’s probably a good thing because nothing can match up to Louis. A dildo won’t feel as hot in his arse as Louis does, a dildo won’t growl in his ear and kiss his neck, twine the fingers together and murmur “ _Love you so much, baby”_ in his ear when he’s close to coming.

“ _Lou_ ,” Harry hisses, unable to stop himself even though he knows Louis won’t be here to answer. His nails dig into the metal of the bedframe and his toes curl into the mattress, rough friction giving way to burning heat and it’s not enough. Harry’s too tightly wound to let go properly and he needs something more than his hips snapping against the bed to push him into an orgasm.

He needs Louis’ voice, pathetically enough. He needs Louis to be here with him instead of in fucking London writing songs and going places Harry won’t be able to tag along to. His bond mark aches when Louis’ away, a sharp twinge that’s one of the worst things Harry’s ever felt. It’s not indicative to him coming anyway, so he bites on the pillow and frees one of his hands from the headboard.

It’s not careful, the way he shoves it into his boxers behind him, sliding two fingers between his cheeks to circle his slick hole. He’s got no patience for careful now, not when he’s frustrated and horny, desperate to come so he can get on with his day.

Harry pushes two fingers inside himself, groaning as his rim stretches and his cock grinds against the mattress. He resumes his quick pace, rutting against the mattress, but now when he brings his hips back he’s fucking himself on his fingers too, imagining that they’re Louis’. Of course there are physical differences between them, Louis’ fingers aren’t as thick as Harry’s and they feel infinitely better in him; Louis always seems to find the exact spots that drive Harry wild in a third of the time it takes for Harry to locate them. Still, Harry brushes his fingers against his prostate, trying to mimic the way Louis always rubs it, controlled and teasing.

It’s that thought, the vivid image of Louis spreading Harry’s cheeks and watching his long fingers slide into Harry’s wet hole, dripping for him, that has Harry coming, ruining his boxers like he did when he was a fucking teenager.

Harry keeps pressing on his prostate until the last spurt of come has dribbled from his cock, just because he knows that’s what Louis would do.  Taking his own fingers out of his arse has never felt so disappointing, and he wipes them on his boxers before kicking them off and flipping on to his back so he can clean up the mess. The sheets probably needed washing anyway.

Sighing, Harry checks the time on his phone: _16:49._ It’s not too late to do something, still, so Harry pulls up his schedule and see if there’s any appearances he can schedule early. There’s not, sadly, so Harry sends a text to Jeff, Xander and Glenne, figuring it’s about time they met and caught up. Besides, he could use an evening of fun with his friends, they’re his friends for a reason, after all.

He promptly ignores the blue notification on the 15th, a week from now, otherwise he’ll end up thinking about how much he misses Louis again, and that helps absolutely no one.

***

Harry spends most of the week fulfilling obligations, letting people know he’s still in LA and not with Louis, as if he’s not texting Louis whenever he sees something that reminds him of Louis, or he’s not actually mated to Louis and wearing his scent (and ring) like a brand. He does stuff he enjoys though, because he _is_ capable of functioning without Louis, his alpha, and he’s his own person just as much as he’s an omega and a husband.

He’s actually just come home from a writing session with Ross and Johan for their next album, and is in the middle of cooking dinner for himself when he gets the phone call. Louis’ name flashes on the screen of his phone, and wipes his hands on his apron before answering and putting him on speaker.

“Hi, Lou,” Harry says, going back to the soup simmering on the hob.

“Hey, love,” Louis answers, and Harry smiles, the crackle of Louis’ lovely voice enough to have him grinning, even from thousands of miles away. Especially from thousands of miles away. “How’re you doing?”

“Missing you,” Harry replies, stirring gently as he speaks. “Just cooking dinner. I’ve been out the past few nights so I’m taking tonight for myself. Gonna do a facemask maybe, I always get spots when I’m in LA. Don’t need to ask how you’re doing, babe,” Harry adds with a chuckle, “I’ve seen the pics online.”

“Right,” Louis says, and Harry can picture Louis’ smile perfectly, the corners of his mouth quirking and his sharp teeth digging into his lower lip. “I’m definitely feeling these nights out, but the training is what’s killing me. Don’t know how these lads do it all year round.”

“They don’t, is how,” Harry laughs, flicking away a stray hair. The steam from the hob is making his forehead bead with sweat. He’s starting to question why he thought soup would be a good dish for early spring in LA anyway. “Which reminds me, I had our gardener make sure the back garden’s ready for you to practise on when you come tomorrow. When’s your flight anyway, love? I need to set the reminder to come pick you up.”

“You never need reminders, Haz,” Louis replies, then pauses awkwardly. The silence makes Harry frown, setting the wooden spoon on the marble countertop so all his focus is on the phone. “I’ve cancelled my flight.”

Harry’s frown deepens, his bond mark aching. He takes Louis off speakerphone and switches the hob off, going to sit in the living room. “You’ve cancelled your flight,” he echoes, curling up on their biggest settee, letting the arm rest and squishy pillows make him feel small, for once. “As in, you’ll be getting a later one?”

“As in,” Louis starts slowly, taking a deep breath. “As in I’m not coming, at least until after the charity match.”

Louis’ charity match is on the 19th, which means it’ll be just under another week until they see each other again. Fuck, Harry knows other couples do that all the time and it’s not like they’ll crumble without being together for a fortnight but that’s so _long_ when they’re as close as they are.

“I thought…” Harry trails off, biting his lip.

“It’s just easier to stay in Donny and train, Haz,” Louis says quietly. “Two transatlantic flights in less than a week right before a big match is a terrible idea. We should have known that before, but...”

Harry nods. It’s reasonable. It’s totally, completely reasonable and Harry can support that. Another five or six days of not being able to hold Louis’ hand and kiss him sweetly is killing Harry, but he can handle it. “Okay, so that’s, what, the 20th that you’ll be coming over here?”

Louis hesitates, and Harry has to bite back a frustrated growl. “I’ve got writing sessions and time in the studio scheduled as of yesterday, plus I’m supposed to get papped clubbing in London again and just… it’s _shit_ but there’s no time to make the trip until early May, at the least.”

“ _May_?” Harry repeats, squeezing his eyes shut. “A whole month, Lou. Can’t you write or record over here? There are clubs in LA, why London?”

“You know why London, Haz,” Louis says, sounding just frustrated as Harry but that does little to ease the tightness coiling in Harry’s chest. “Just wait until you hear the stuff me, Liam and Jamie are writing. It’s really fucking good.”

Fuck, of course Louis gets to hang out with Liam and Niall and everyone under the fucking sun publically, while Harry’s trapped in LA. It’s not that he doesn’t love it here, he _does_ , he loves his friends and his beautiful home, but he’s got no choice. Everything is always scheduled for fucking LA.

“Babe?” Louis asks when Harry doesn’t reply. “Talk to me.”

“I’m upset, Lou,” Harry snaps, harsher than he intended to but he _is_ so he can be excused an outburst right now. “I’m fucking upset that you, my mate and the love of my life, are on another fucking continent for a whole month, and I’m not going to see you until fucking May.”

“Haz, I’m upset too,” Louis says, and now Harry can picture the frown forming between Louis’ brows and Harry just wants to kiss the spot and cuddle with him until they both feel better. Of course, he can’t, that’s the whole problem, and that just makes Harry feel worse. “I mean, fuck, I’ve got a huge football match in less than a week and it kills me that you don’t get to be there for that. It’s a month for me too, love.”

Harry groans. “God, Lou, what I wouldn’t give to be at your match, but at least Liam’s there, right? Because you still get to be friends with Liam, after all this bull—”

“Harry,” Louis cuts him off sharply, jolting Harry because Louis _never_ uses Harry’s full name like that.

“Fuck, I’m sorry, Lou,” he says in a rush, shame welling up in his throat. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have used that against you – fuck, I’m so sorry.”

“I know, H,” Louis replies after a moment. “It’s hell for both of us and I know you’re upset right now, but you can’t say shit like that.”

“I just miss you,” Harry whispers into the speaker, digging his fingers into the soft cushions of the pillow. “I miss you so fucking much and I can’t do a thing about it because we’re fucking closeted and I hate it. I hate it, Lou.”

“I do too,” Louis says. “It’s not forever though. We’ve gotta think like that.”

“You’re right,” Harry sighs. “We made it through the hardest parts, and we’ll make it through this month.” Harry bites his lip, wishing he could just hold Louis in his arms right now. “I’ve gotta check on dinner. I’ll call you tomorrow, after training. I love you, Lou, more than anything else.”

“You’re my everything, H,” Louis says, and Harry hangs up. Normally, they’d spend a ridiculous length of time sweet talking each other until someone has to hang up for one of them, but Harry’s too exhausted to do that now.

Instead, he traipses up to his wardrobe and checks his itinerary for tomorrow. He’s got a dinner at some restaurant in the evening where he’ll definitely be photographed leaving. The dress code is formal, so Harry picks out a suit and shoes, then spends the next ten minutes looking through his headscarves until he finds what he was after, the blue bandana.

***

Harry makes sure his schedule for the 19th is free until well after Louis’ finished his charity match. He’s in bed on his laptop, phone by his side, trawling Tumblr, Twitter and even Facebook for a working livestream. There are a few going round, but all seem to cut out the second everyone catches scent of them, and that’s the opposite of what Harry wants.

Five minutes to the match, Harry cuts his losses and calls Liam on FaceTime.

“Show the field, show the field. I wanna see how he’s doing,” Harry says, holding his Mac closer to his face, as if that will help him see Louis. At the moment, all he can see is Liam’s chin.

“He’s not playing yet,” Liam says, flashing the camera to the pitch. Harry catches a glimpse of Louis talking with one of the regular Rovers, and a surge of pride wells up in Harry’s chest. “I think they’re about to start soon.”

“He looks so good out there,” Harry says, watching the shaky video on his screen. “Liam, for God’s sake, keep your hand still!”

“I’m trying,” Liam huffs, turning his phone so Harry gets a screenful of his nose and beard, before he’s focusing back on the pitch. Louis’ just adjusting his headband and checking that his socks are fully covering his shin pads. “Do you really expect me to keep this up for the whole match?”

“Yes, Liam,” Harry says. “There’s no working livestreams so you’re the best I can do. Just keep it on Louis while he plays. He’s been training so hard, I want to see him do well.”

“Okay, but I’m pretty sure Louis’ getting me to do a penalty kick at half-time, so I can’t film then,” Liam replies, adjusting his phone so it’s a wider shot but steadier this way.

“You’re the best, Li,” Harry tells him, leaning back in bed and tracking Louis as he watches through the screen.

He texts Louis his live updates as the match progresses, and when Louis scores the first goal he knocks his Mac off his lap with the force of his full-body movement, fist-pumping the air and matching the fans in the stadium with his volume. When half-time comes, Harry’s desperate to give Louis a ring and gush down the phone at how amazing he’s playing, and how it’s so obvious that he’s giving it his all. Instead, Louis’ time is taken up in team pep talks and posing for pictures with fans, and Harry’s not bitter. He’s a little put out, sure, but he’ll get his time to talk with Louis after the match. Right now, he’s beaming with pride as he watches Louis mingle with the crowds.

Liam’s penalty kick is a success too, and Harry congratulates him when Liam takes the phone from Sophia and resumes the video stream for Harry.

“It’s all in the ankle, you know?” Liam jokes, shoving the camera towards his boots and Harry can hear Sophia laugh through the crackling audio.

“Lovely, Liam,” Harry says sharply, though he’s grinning himself, giddy on the adrenaline of Louis doing so well as a captain. “Now can we get back to Lou on the pitch, please?”

Coppinger’s side pulls ahead near the end of the match, and by the time the final whistle blows, he’s won 7-4. Harry thanks Liam profusely for streaming him the game, at the cost of three-quarters of Liam’s battery, and Harry calls Louis.

“You were amazing,” Harry says the second Louis picks up, not giving him time to say hello. “Incredible, Lou, God, you just shone out there. I’m so proud of you.”

“Give me ten minutes to get somewhere private and I’ll FaceTime you, alright Haz?” Louis squeezes in before Harry can continue, and he nods vehemently.

“Yeah, yeah, of course,” he adds, realising that Louis can’t actually _see_ him nod. “Speak to you then. Love you!”

“Love you too,” Louis laughs and he’s hanging up.

Harry checks himself out in the camera of his Mac, making sure he doesn’t have bedhead or bleary eyes. Not that Louis would mind, of course, he’s seen Harry with bedhead and helmet hair and all sorts a million times over, but still. Harry wants to be presentable.

It’s not long before Louis’ calling him on FaceTime, and Harry’s answering eagerly.

“Are you in a store cupboard?” is the first thing Harry says, squinting at the dim wall behind Louis and what he thinks is a yellow ‘wet floor’ sign in the lower corner.

“It’s the only place I could get a bit of privacy,” Louis says, going to brush his fringe but with his hair still pushed back with the headband, he ends up wiping his forehead. “Not too easy to escape, being the team captain and all.”

“I’m so proud of you,” Harry says again, because he can’t say it enough. He’ll never be able to tell Louis exactly how proud of him he really is. It’d take a hundred lifetimes. “Your first goal was the best of the match.”

Louis laughs, his eyes twinkling as he ducks his head and blushes, even in the watery, yellow light of the cupboard. Harry loves that he can still make Louis blush, almost five years into their relationship. “There were a lot of goals, babe, don’t think mine quite topped the rest.”

“Best of the match,” Harry repeats. Louis’ face lags on the screen, his expression jumping quickly from a wide smile to him staring at the exposed skin of Harry’s chest through the small window on his phone. Harry straightens up when he notices, leaning towards his laptop so the camera gets a better angle of his chest.

“I wish you could be here,” Louis says quietly, and Harry’s bond mark aches with the words. He wants nothing more than to be there with Louis, to have been supporting him from the sidelines like Louis would always do for him. “Post-match adrenaline isn’t the same when you’re not there to burn it off with.”

“Right,” Harry giggles, because that’s where Louis’ mind jumped. He’s buzzing with energy, Harry can tell just from the pixelated video call, and normally, after a show, they’d have some private time to get off together until they’ve calmed down a bit. Now, Louis’ alone, but Harry can work with this. “We’d both be cramped in that supply cupboard, yeah? Me on my knees for you like you deserve after that performance.”

“Haz,” Louis breathes, letting his head fall back against the wall as his right hand disappears from the view of the camera. “You wouldn’t want it in here,” he adds, smirking at Harry. “You’d want it in the changing rooms, where anyone could walk in and see me claiming you.”

“ _Fuck_ ,” Harry groans, feeling his cock thicken and his arse get damp from how turned on he is. “You know me so well.”

“Should do,” Louis shrugs. “I bonded with you, didn’t I? And I wouldn’t be able to resist you if you were here. You’d smell too good for me to think about the consequences of someone finding us.”

“I’d smell too good?” Harry pinches his own nipple idly, shaking his head as he stares at Louis. “Your scent is always so much stronger when you’ve been exercising. All the sweat and the pheromones, it’s so hot, Lou. I’d probably just bend over and present myself for you right there, in front of all your teammates. Let them know I’m your omega and you’re my alpha and that we’re perfect for each other.”

“You can’t say that to me when you’re thousands of miles away,” Louis groans, his voice lilting up at the end. Harry can hear the quietened sounds of Louis jerking himself off and he can’t help but whine that Louis’ not videoing it.

“I can show you,” Harry says, resting his laptop on a pillow at the end of the bed and adjusting it so it’s the right height to capture all of Harry’s body as he gets on all fours. He was naked to begin with, never bothered putting on clothes today, and he hears Louis’ sharp inhale followed by a high-pitched moan as Louis’ spots him.

Harry lines his arse up with the camera, looking over his shoulder making sure Louis can definitely see him, and reaches back to spread his cheeks. Keeping his neck twisted to try and watch Louis’ reaction is too painful, so Harry buries his face in the pillow and mentally congratulates himself on keeping the volume up high so he can _hear_ Louis’ groans.

“Fuck, baby, so beautiful,” Louis says roughly while Harry traces his rim, feeling the slickness trickle down his balls. The pillow he’s breathing in smells like Louis, and Harry can almost imagine it’s Louis dipping two fingers inside himself right now. Almost, because the reality of fingering himself on camera for Louis is hotter this time, when he’s spread out and wanton and desperate for Louis’ knot.

“Want you,” Harry mumbles, though he doubts Louis can hear it. He arches back as he spreads his fingers inside him, stretching his rim with a wet sound. He mouths at the fine cotton material, reaching further inside himself until he’s jabbing his fingers into his prostate and his cock is dripping precome on to the mattress now.

“Bet you want my knot, Haz,” Louis groans, breathy but still authoritative. Harry wants to whine and beg for Louis’ knot. All he can manage though, is another finger inside his hole, rubbing his prostate until electric hot sparks of pleasure make him feel like he’s burning with want. “You haven’t taken it in so long, imagine how tight you’ll be for it when we’re finally together again. I won’t be able to get through the doorway before you’ll be slinging a leg over my hips and taking it straight away.”

“Fuck, fuck, _Lou_ ,” Harry hisses, jerking his hips and moaning loudly when his sensitive cockhead grinds against the mattress. He snakes his free hand between his chest and the bed, pinching his nipples until they’re tingling with sensation. “I want it. I want—”

“That’s it, baby,” Louis croons, and Harry can tell from the roughness of his voice that he’s getting closer. He wants to flip on to his back so he can watch Louis jerk off, see his beautiful mouth form an ‘O’ reaches his orgasm, riled up enough to wank on camera in a supply cupboard. “You remember how good I give it to you, yeah? Remember all those days we never stop touching each other, we’re so caught up in fucking. Oh wait, it’s not fucking, is it, baby? It’s _making love_.”

Harry wails into the pillow and comes untouched, three fingers stuffed in his arse and his nipples red and puffy. He spurts all over the sheets and feels utterly debauched in the best way as he rides out his orgasm, his hole clenching around his fingers in a way he knows Louis loves.

Harry does manage to lie on his back in time to watch Louis come, his head thrown back and his neck straining as his body rocks with the force of his orgasm. Harry wishes he could be there to lap up his come, taste Louis’ body and kiss him as the aftershocks trickle through his limbs.

As it is, he has himself to clean up, and he can do that by putting on a show for Louis. He swipes his hand through the come that splashed on to his stomach, ignoring the drying spunk on the sheets, and brings it to his lips, smearing it gently. Louis watches, entranced, as Harry licks it off, moaning around his fingers as he sucks them clean.

“You always taste so sweet,” Louis says quietly, wiping his own hand on his shorts. He’ll be changing out of them soon enough to get away with it, Harry supposes.

“Not as nice as you,” Harry sighs. “How long until you’re coming over here? I miss you.”

Louis’ face drops, his nose scrunching as he thinks. “I don’t know yet,” he says. “I’m still waiting to finish writing this one song with Liam and Jamie, and there’s a bunch of factors, babe, but I’ll be there as soon as I can. You know that.”

“I do,” Harry agrees. Louis will come when he can, and not a moment sooner, but that doesn’t mean Harry has to _like_ being kept apart like this. “I just want you here with me yesterday already.”

“Soon,” Louis promises, and Harry believes him. Soon, Louis will be here. Soon, they’ll be free to admit that Harry is Louis’ omega and Louis is Harry’s alpha. Soon, they’ll be able to walk in public holding hands and not having to worry about a fan taking a photo or breaching their contracts.

“Soon,” Harry echoes.

***

Over the next ten days, Harry does a lot of things. He goes to basketball games, goes out with his friends, sleeps more than he thought was humanly possible, but most significantly, he spends more time writing with Ross and Johan. They’ve mostly finished the lyrics and the melody fits to a tee. Harry can’t wait to share the song with Louis, it’s his favourite that he’s written so far and he can feel the emotion he’s pouring into every word.

He’s sent Louis little snippets of audio while he’s been in the studio, playing the piano parts over to get a feel for the sound, and in return, Louis been sending him clips of the tracks he’s been working on. None of the clips are from the one song Harry’s dying to hear though, the song Louis wrote earlier in April that he hasn’t stopped raving about.

Harry only gets to hear it when Louis sneaks back into LA on the 30th, the only warning he deigned to give Harry was the iMessage _‘pick me up from LAX in twenty?’._

Harry has never travelled to an airport so fast in his life, taking his discreet ‘ _I don’t want to be spotted_ ’ car and slipping into the pick-up zone unnoticed. Louis comes straight out of the building as soon as Harry parks, carrying one single backpack, and jumping into the passenger seat before Harry can even get out.

“Lou,” Harry breathes, opening his arms wide for Louis’ to climb on to his lap. It’s really fucking cramped in the car, so Harry tries to adjust the seat to give them a bit more room but Louis’ grabbing hold of both his hands and wrapping them around his waist, burying his face in Harry’s neck.

“Hi, Haz,” Louis whispers, warm breath ghosting over Harry’s skin. He shivers, holding Louis tighter, so tightly he thinks Louis’ probably struggling to breathe but Harry can’t find it in himself to ease up and risk letting Louis go again. A whole month, they’ve been apart. Harry doesn’t want to repeat that any time soon. “I missed you so much.”

“I missed you too,” Harry murmurs, wondering how many times he’s said a variant of that phrase in the last month. Too many times. Louis kissing his neck lightly breaks him out of his reverie, pulling him back to the present. He’s rumpled from a long flight, in his softest trackies and jumper, smelling just like Harry remembers and loves. “You should’ve given me more notice,” he adds softly. “I would have prepared something.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Louis says, pulling back and shifting so he’s curled up even smaller on Harry’s lap, eyes twinkling. He’s breath-taking, Harry thinks as he stares into Louis’ eyes and feeling at ease for the first time in a whole month. Louis’ slight features and soft smile and radiance renders Harry speechless. “I’ve got something I wanna show you.”

Harry lifts his brows, stroking his thumbs over Louis’ back. “Is it the track you kept talking about but never sent me any clips of?”

Louis nods, leaning in so their foreheads are resting together, their noses touching. “It’s special to me,” he whispers, and Harry goes a little cross-eyed trying to watch the sweep of Louis’ eyelashes as he blinks. “It’s… it’s personal.”

“I can’t wait to hear it,” Harry tells him, curiosity eating away at his edges.

“I can’t wait for you to hear it,” Louis replies, leaning in to kiss Harry. It’s sweet, a dry brush of lips and they fall into the rhythm like it’s barely been a day since they’ve kissed, not a month. Harry starts grinning too soon into it, which sets Louis off and then they’re not kissing anymore, just curled up together with smiles too wide for their faces. “Take us home.”

Harry misses Louis’ warmth on his lap when he drives them home, but Louis keeps a hand on Harry’s thigh the whole drive, and listening to his voice as they talk is enough. When they pull into the driveway, Harry rushes to the passenger side so he can literally sweep Louis off his feet and carry him into their home.

“Nice to see it’s still standing,” Louis laughs, wriggling in Harry’s arms, forcing Harry to hold him tighter. It’s not very Typical Alpha of Louis to let Harry carry him like this, but neither of them are concerned with what’s typical of either of their statuses.

“I’m not the one that randomly sets fire to things,” Harry points out, carrying Louis straight through the living area and towards the bedroom.

“You say it like I do it on purpose,” Louis huffs, biting Harry’s biceps. Harry rolls his eyes fondly, kicking open their bedroom door and gently laying Louis out on his side of the bed. Straight away, Louis rolls off the bed and grabs their docking station from the desk next to the window, sticking his phone on to the stand.

“Way to kill a romantic gesture, Lou,” Harry says, flopping back on to the bed and lifting his head just enough to get a decent view of Louis’ bum as he bends over.

“D’you wanna hear the song or not, Harold?” Louis says, scrolling through his songs until he finds the right one. Harry can’t see what it’s called from here, but the title looks short. It opens with a guitar, and Louis hurries back to the bed, curling up next to Harry and pulling a crumpled piece of paper from his hoodie pocket.

“These the lyrics?” Harry asks, his eyes scanning the page as Louis starts to sing softly.

Harry’s breath catches in his chest when Louis gets to the pre-chorus, his name scrawled next to the lyrics with ‘FALSETTO’ written next to it. _Baby, we could be enough_. And the chorus, fuck, Harry can’t believe something so heart-warming could possibly exist but it makes sense that Louis was the one that helped create it.

“Lou,” he says when the song is finished, can’t think of how else to describe it. “It’s beautiful. God, this is what you were working on?”

“Yeah, me, Liam and Jamie,” Louis says, bringing his hand to rest on Harry’s chest, thumbing his bond mark through the thin fabric of his shirt. “The month apart was hard because you’re my home, and when we’re apart we’re not just physically apart but there’s the public separation and all this bullshit about _why_ we’re apart and I just…” He trails off, looking up at Harry and twisting his lips. “I wanted to write something that wasn’t tainted by that, you know?”

“I do,” Harry says earnestly, resting his hand on top of Louis’. “I’ll show you what I’ve been working on with Ross and Johan later, it fits with this. _If I could fly, I’d be coming right home to you_.”

Louis’ eyes light up as Harry sings the lyric, his face splitting into a smile. “God, we’re saps.”

“Saps on the same wavelength,” Harry adds, matching Louis’ grin.

“Five years together does that.” Louis presses his lips to Harry’s shoulder, inhaling gently. “I’m glad I’m home.”

Harry’s voice feels tight as he encircles Louis in his arms, rolling them so he’s on top of Louis and smothering him with his love. “I’m glad you’re home too.”

 


End file.
